Griever Believer
by A Feather of Pepa
Summary: Alissa, a self proclaimed fire-tongue and and tamer of beasts, is set on proving man-kind wrong by raising one of the worst beasts of all. This journey may just be the best-and worst- thing that has ever happened in the history of W.I.C.K.E.D. HAITUS.
1. Chapter 1

Screams of terror sounded far away; shouts of urgency rang throughout the village. A girl stood, alone, in front of a sickly glowing bundle of slug-like substance and metal poking from the skin. The smell of oil filled the air.

The girl was fighting a battle. A battle against the worst, and weirdest, of gazes. The creature that stood before her was a strangely small Griever, one of which she could not see its eyes. What had WICKED's scientists created? It was too small to cause harm to anyone. Perhaps it was another test? A test to see what the groups A and B would do to it? Something about the way the Griever hunched backward summoned a familiar emotion in its slow movements.

Fear.

This little one was afraid of the humans. It looked somewhat confused as well, telling Alisa that it may not even know what she is or how it got there. Could there possibly be another Flat Trans.? One that the Gladers hadn't discovered? Nonetheless, Alisa felt curiosity beginning to burn under her skin. Reaching out to the one-foot-and-a-half creature with a soft hand, the girl gently touched the Griever's skin. It flinched but then relaxed against her touch, allowing the hand to sink into its flesh.

"ALISA! WHAT THE SHUCK ARE YOU _DOING_?" A familiar voice cried out; the girl turned toward her father, Minho. She had a smile plastered over her face.

"Look dad, it's not hurting me... And don't give me that look, I know what it is!" She snapped back. It appeared so, as she inheireted her father's attitude and brown hair. "This shuck baby's not doing anything, as it will never, slinthead."

Minho rolled his eyes impatiently and pulled his twelve-year-old daughter away, with her protesting. "Yeah right. And the next thing you know, pieces of klunk will smell like flowers. You _know_ it's dangerous. So why'd you do it?" Her eyes met the ground and she unwillfully answered after a few thoughtful moments. She looked up at him and smiled.

"'Cause I'm the daughter of a idiotic slinthead who, regarding his attitude, beat Brenda's shuck-faced friend." She stuck her tongue out at Minho, which set his temper ablaze. But she carried on, ignoring his furious stare. "But I'd say that we're all bloody idiots. It's in our shucked up human nature to kill things we don't understand. Why can't we give it a chance? It's just a baby!" She held gazes fiercely, defending her pitiful find. _The poor thing'll get hurt if we don't change our ways..._ Alisa thought bitterly.

Breaking free of his iron grip, she ran over to the bundle of yellow glow and scooped it up, cradling it in her arms. The griever made a loud, rumbling sound that showed it's pleasure and curled up like a potato bug would if it were to be disturbed. She held it like it was a real baby, and stared defyingly at her father. "You'd know not to hurt it. You're not that big of a slinthead. Or are ya?" She smiled at the slug in her arms. "This wee thing isn't gonna hurt anyone." Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. "Please, dad."

There was silence. Then there was another pair of footsteps running toward the two, and Alisa recognized Thomas's voice. "Alisa, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be helping put out the fire-" Alisa guessed, with her eyes closed still, that he had caught sight of the innocent-looking Griever in her arms. He hardly dared breathe. "What are you doing? You know that Grievers are dangerous! And yet you're holding one!"

"I know what I'm doing, Mr. Thomas." She replied softly, resting her hand of the Griever's flank. "I'm demonstrating the one thing man kind has never done. I'm demonstrating... compassion." The metal spokes prodded her gently as the critter snored. It had fallen asleep with her gentle care. Satisfied, she opened her eyes again and stared at Minho. "All righty. Let's see those flower-scented klunks." She smirked and took off her blue cardigan, wrapped it around her new pet and carried it back to the village. Both men looked at each other with such an incredible look that even the gods would throw their tyrants and let out booming laughter.

"Maybe I _should_ have cut off you're 'you-know-what' off when I had the chance." Thomas finally grinned at Minho, referring to the time that he was 'taken over' by WICKED's 'influencing' ways. Minho, displeased, growled and took off after his daughter before anyone started panicking. Now on his own, Thomas began to wonder.

_What if she's right?_


	2. Say What?

"GAH! You silly little slug, get back here!" Alisa screamed angrily, rampaging past her parents' room to see Minho sitting on the bed, looking at the floor. She stopped, whirled around and stopped by the door way. "Hey dad, have you seen Sponge? He sat on my sock and it sank into his skin. When I turned around, he was already making a slide for it. But now I can't find him anywhere, and now I'll be late for school!" Alisa wailed, placing her hands on her temples in distress. Minho only cocked an eyebrow and picked up a familiar mischievous Griever, one of which was struggling to escape, a black sock half-sunken into his yellow flesh. It let out an engine-like squeal, angrily when it realized it couldn't escape Minho's grasp.

"You mean this 'wee thing that isn't gonna do anyone harm'? I wasn't just talking physically, you slinthead." Minho snapped, staring rather smugly at the creature in his arms. "And _you_ can just keep your metal spokes off her socks and stop making laundry piles, okay?" The infant let out another squeal and managed to slip between his fingers onto the wooden floor, leaving sticky fluid on Minho's hands.

Snorting in disgust, he wiped it away on his blue jeans and looked back at his daughter. "Well, this was your decision—don't come crying to me if someone bullies you because of your new pet; I'll already be there to kick their ugly shuck faces… Oh, and I guess I should solve the problem, too." He smiled in that fatherly way a child gets when they're crying or frustrated. Alisa could only shrug in the slightest understanding and continued her way down the hall, making her way to the kitchen to see, well, _Sonya_.

Alisa was surprised. This was rare for her mom to be home. Usually she would go to work at six A.M. and return at three P.M. It was _8_ A.M. What was she doing home? "Hi honey." Sonya welcomed warmly, sitting at the breakfast counter in the far corner. On the stove, there was a frying pan filled with runny eggs and beacon; the smell of it was absolutely mouth-watering. But something else was on Alisa's mind.

"Mom, what're you doing home?" The brunette girl asked cautiously, taking tentative steps into the room. The only time that her mother was ever home was when she was sick. Or tired. Alisa suspiciously crossed her arms. _She is _not_ walking me to school on my first day in grade seven. _The girl thought spontaneously, slitting her eyes. "This isn't just one of your schemes to embarrass me, is it?" Her mother nearly dropped her fork in surprise.

Her face was the look of absolute innocence, causing Alisa to groan. "Maaamaaaa! I don't need to be mothered around! I'm a pre-teen. It's cool!" She took a seat opposite to Sonya's and sat confidently. "If anyone tells me I'm not welcome because of my Griever, I'll just say, 'I'm sorry, I think you're mistaking me for someone who gives a crap.'" A look of worry crossed the dark skinned woman's face and she frowned.

"That what I'm worried about, Alisa." She replied, forking another large chunk of egg into her mouth. "I can't stand the fact that you'll begin to moon over boys, or make the wrong choices, or say the most insulting of things without realizing it. It's a mother's concern, and I have a right to be worried. After all, grade seven feels younger every year…" Sonya searched her daughter's face seriously. "Did you wash your hands after holding the Griever? The oil might be acid or strange fluids we haven't discovered yet—even worse."

Alisa rolled her eyes. It was enough that Brenda open-heartedly took samples of Sponge to see if any of the sludge was harmful, and had proclaimed that all of it was just plain water, but now Sonya was making a fuss about how Brenda's been wrong before in her experiments on account of her knowing Brenda, because of them being friends before the Swipe.

Sonya's daughter remained in her seat. Though she thought of her mother as a paranoid eavesdropper, Alisa also remembered that she was taught to be civil, kind, and polite from her mother. And of course, she learned to be full of combats from her father, Minho. Thus using this combination, it would make her… a drama queen? Alisa hoped less of what it may turn her into.

* * *

"Bye, Mom. Bye, Daaaaaaadddyyyyyyyyy!" Alisa called, about to slam the door when she heard a '_whiiir, click click click'_ and realized Sponge was between the doors, squeezing his jelly-like body right through. To the brunette, it seemed he was trying to mimic a ferret. "Sorry, Sponge, you can't come." She leaned down and sank her hand into the flesh. "But hey, you can keep dad company. He doesn't mind gross, sticky stuff; he's a boy, after all…" said Alisa, smirking to herself and heaved the creature back inside. "_Bye_, Sponge." She slammed the door once again, though she thought she heard a mechanical groan and suspected the Griever to be sulking.

Grabbing her bike, she switched to gear 3 and began to pedal down the road in the direction of the school. She lived only three minutes away, so by the time she pulled into the parking lot, children of all ages were arriving. Some of them and their parents (Alisa pitied her friend, Emma, whom was walking with her father) gave her strange looks of fear and defiance, as though she was one of those Cranks. Alisa was grateful that she had won the fight with her mother, and she could go on her own, but at the same time she wished she hadn't.

She didn't like being harassed by vicious glares and rude actions, such as the parents protectively circling their children or kids from her class giving nasty looks. In response, Alisa would stare them straight in the eye, and they would glance away, giving the impression of innocently gazing at something else. _If this is what grade seven is supposed to be like, then Dad is very fond of Grievers. _Alisa thought gloomily.

"Hey, look everyone! It's the griever believer!" came a cackle, and the brunette craned her neck to spot a group of kids from grade seven and eight, waiting for her to park and lock her bike. As she did so, some of the curious guys questioned her on what it's like to have a Griever around the house, but Alisa answered with a cocked eyebrow.

"Well, It's kinda like having a cat. He steals my socks and makes laundry piles."

"So she says," laughed one, Brett. "That's gotta be fun. What's next, homework?" If there was a taunt in that, Alisa didn't hear it.

"Actually, that's physically impossible-"

"I don't want to listen to you launch into one of your scientific explanations. None of us really understand them, anyway." Brett spat. "I don't think you're a smart person, either. You act all intelligent, but are you really? I mean, you're keeping one of the most shuck dangerous creatures in history! You're the bloodiest shucked up slinthead I've ever seen!" His words made her throat dry.

"Really? I don't want to see you ruin someone's life, slinthead. Be careful when you stick your bloody head out a shuck window... you might be arrested for mooning." Alisa said smoothly, practicing her plain expression and watching as his face went red. "Besides. I'm not all that smart. I just pay attention, unlike you." She grinned, hopped off her bike, and walked to the intermediate doors.

But as she left, the taunts didn't end. Nor did her anger. Griever Believer, they said, Beast Tamer, they claimed.

Fierce Pierce, they sneered.

...In the end, it all made Alisa wonder who created these ridiculous names.


End file.
